by Kate Lattey
“Come by tomorrow morning then and take Misty around the Grand Prix,” Hayley told me as we made our way down the stairs. “Because over my dead body is Tess is riding him again. One more round with her in the tack and Misty’ll go on strike, and I wouldn’t blame him either!”
CHAPTER SIX
We were late back to the show grounds the next morning, and found Susannah’s mother waiting at our yards, tapping her watch pointedly as we drove in.
“I was starting to think that you weren’t going to show up. I hope you’ve got Molly on board and she’s ready to go,” Naomi Andrews snapped as I jumped down from the cab and guided Mum into our spot. I kept my back turned towards Naomi, but she stood right behind me, practically breathing down my neck while Mum parked.
“Susie’s first to go on Buckingham and ninth on Skip, then she’ll be ready to ride Molly,” Naomi told me as I hit the button to lower the hydraulic ramp.
Rub it in, why don’t you? I thought to myself. Why Susannah needed three Grand Prix ponies was a mystery to me – I’d found it hard enough work with two. Forbes was nearest to the ramp and the first to come into view, and Naomi craned her neck up at him.
“There she is,” Naomi said. “Bring her off and I’ll get her saddled. Steph said her tack comes with her, so…”
I cut her off. “That’s Forbes. Molly’s further back.” I let the ramp settle onto the dewy grass and went up to unload my ponies, internally fuming. The ponies’ heads were hidden behind the grills, but Molly was a bright bay, and Forbes’ coat was dark brown. It wasn’t rocket science to tell the difference between them – even Anders had managed it yesterday and he knew nothing at all about horses. I was still mad about it as I handed Forbes off to Mum, and watched AJ go in for Squib.
I should’ve told Naomi to stand back. I knew that Squib liked to come off the truck with a hiss and a roar, usually jumping off from at least halfway down the ramp, but I was still angry. Besides, it wasn’t my fault that Naomi thought standing right in the middle at the bottom of the ramp was a good idea. Anyone with a trace of horse sense would know that was a stupid place to stand, especially around ponies you don’t know, but there’s never been any telling the Andrews family anything. So AJ clipped on Squib’s lead rope, and opened the divider, and started walking to the back of the truck, and Squib, true to form, took two steps behind her, squealed, and jumped forward onto the ramp, tearing the rope out of AJ’s hand. He stood goggle-eyed for a moment with all four legs planted, then launched himself off the ramp. It was Naomi’s own fault that she was in the way, and she only made it worse when she shrieked and stepped backwards, instead of sideways, which would’ve moved her out of Squib’s trajectory. But she didn’t, and nearly five hundred kilograms of pony slammed into her, knocking her flat on her back.
Squib, for his part, seemed apologetic. Instead of prancing off to meet his neighbours, like he’d done the last time I’d failed to catch him on landing, he stood stock still and stared at Naomi’s sprawled figure in surprise. I grabbed up his trailing lead rope as AJ came apologising down the ramp, so I left her and Mum to fuss over Naomi, taking Squib into his yard and shutting him away.
“Good job,” I whispered to the pony as I unclipped his lead. “At least someone’s on my side.”
Naomi was back on her feet and none the worse for wear, other than a bit of mud on her impractical cream-coloured jacket. AJ was still apologising profusely as I headed past them and back up the ramp to get the next pony off, but I slowed when I realised that it was Molly. She stood in the truck with her ears pricked, her head turned as far as it could go towards the commotion outside. I slowed my pace as I approached her, then glanced over my shoulder. They were still distracted, and I had a moment left alone with my favourite. I put a hand on Molly’s glossy back, running my palm gently along from her withers to her loins, feeling the warm softness of her coat, the strength of her well-conditioned muscles. She shifted restlessly, ready to get out of the close quarters of the truck, and I heard Mum’s voice from outside.
“Come on Katy, we’re waiting for you.”
I pulled back the lever that fixed the divider in place, and swung it back against the wall, then hooked it back with a bungee cord. Most of the dividers stayed back on their own, but this one had a loose pin and couldn’t be relied on not to swing back and hit me in the shoulder as I tried to lead my pony out. Molly waited restlessly as I fiddled with it, until there was no more chance of delay. I unclipped her halter from the tie attached to the truck wall, and snapped a lead rope on in its place.
“C’mon then,” I said sadly, and Molly followed me trustingly towards her fate.
Shortly afterwards, I stood outside the Maxwells’ truck, looking in vain for any sign of life. Their ramp was up and their gear all stowed tidily nearby. I’d passed Misty and their other horses in their yards on my way here, still rugged and bandaged, and I was starting to have a bad feeling that Hayley had forgotten her promise that I could ride Misty in the Grand Prix today. After seeing Molly get tacked up and led away for Susannah to ride, I wanted nothing more than to go out there and kick her butt in the ring, to prove that she wasn’t the only one who could get on someone else’s pony and ride it successfully. I climbed the steps and rapped on the side door of Hayley’s truck. There was no answer, and I knocked louder.
“Can I help you?”
I turned around to see Carmen Maxwell standing behind me with an armful of empty feed buckets, wearing jeans that were a little too tight to be appropriate on someone’s mother and a well-worn pair of Ariat country boots.
“I’m looking for Hayley,” I explained, jumping off the steps guiltily. The way she was looking at me, with her hands on her hips and her eyebrows knotted together, made me feel like I’d been trying to break in and rob them or something.
“She’s sleeping.” Carmen strode towards me, her expression softening as she came closer. “Woke up with a killer headache, so she’s trying to sleep it off.”
I gritted my teeth, not remotely sympathetic. I knew Hayley well enough to know that she would’ve been out partying all night and any headache she’d woken up with was self-inflicted. I gave Carmen my most disarming smile, wishing I had an ounce of the charm that people like Anders seemed to possess in spades.
“It’s just that she said I could ride Misty this morning, so I came by to see if he’s ready.” Carmen’s frown returned, and I quickly clarified my comment. “I mean, I’m happy to get him ready, I’m not expecting him tacked up or anything, but I don’t know where his tack…” My voice trailed off at the look on Carmen’s face, which was darkening with each word.
“I don’t know what Hayley told you, but Misty is Tessa’s pony, and if anyone is going to ride him in the Grand Prix, it’ll be her.”
“Oh.” I felt my skin redden, and my palms sweated anxiously. “I thought, I mean, I didn’t know she was going to ride him in it.”
“Well, she’s won’t be. Not quite up to it yet,” Carmen admitted. “But Hayley doesn’t get to decide who rides him and who doesn’t. He’s not a toy to be handed around to anyone who wants to have a ride. Tess just needs time to get used to him.”
“Okay.” I stepped backwards and sideways, my face hot. “I understand.”
“Sorry if that disappoints you, but he’s not your pony,” Carmen told me sharply, as if there was any doubt left in my mind. “So you’ll have to ride your own.”
I would if I could, I thought angrily as I nodded and walked off, going the long way back to our truck so I wouldn’t have to pass the warm-up rings and risk seeing Susannah. When I got back to our yards Mum was AWOL, but AJ was still there, diligently filling water buckets and stuffing haynets.
“Need some help?” I asked, feeling guilty that we’d left her with all the work.
“I’m almost done. Hey I meant to ask,” she said, slinging Squib’s haynet over the railing and struggling to tie it up while he tore mouthfuls out as though he hadn’t eaten in years. “What’d the ve
t say about Robin?”
I groaned. “Nothing good. He isn’t completely sure, but he thinks it might be navicular.” I waited for AJ’s horrified expression, but she just looked confused.
“What’s that?”
“Navicular syndrome.” She continued looking blank, so I had to call on my minimal knowledge of what it actually was, other than Something Really Bad. “Um, it’s when the navicular bone starts degenerating, I think. It’s a bone in the hoof,” I clarified, knowing at least that much for sure. “Mostly, it’s incurable. Treatable in some cases, and some horses can return to soundness after a diagnosis, but in severe cases it causes permanent lameness. Long story short, if it’s navicular then his career is probably over, and it’s goodbye to the pay cheque he was supposed to bring in. Not that that’s the most important thing, of course, but I was kind of hoping he’d turn into this superstar show hunter pony and I could sell him for heaps and put it into the Molly fund.”
AJ’s expression had shifted from confusion to deep concern as I’d been talking, but my last comment had her lifting an eyebrow at me curiously. “What’s the Molly fund?”
“Oh, you know. The hypothetical stash of money that would pay for Molly so she didn’t have to be sold. The one that would let me keep her.” The dream was over, so I might as well talk about it. “I had this crazy idea that if we sold Robin and Forbes for decent enough money, we might be able to bargain Steph down on the asking price for Molly, so she could stay with me. But that’s all gone down the toilet now that Robin’s basically worthless.”
“You could still sell Forbes,” AJ said thoughtfully. “How much d’you reckon he’d go for?”
I shrugged. “He’s still green, and a bit quirky. Not quite normal. Maybe eight grand on a good day?”
“That’s not too bad,” AJ said thoughtfully. “You got a bit of money from Fossick’s sale too, right?”
“Not really. Mum sold her for four and a half, which if, and it’s a pretty big if, I could get eight for Forbes, would only leave me eighteen grand short. No problem at all,” I muttered sarcastically, and AJ’s face fell.
“Man, I’m sorry.” AJ ducked under the yard railings and abruptly wrapped her arms around me and gave me a firm hug. It felt a bit awkward, but I appreciated the gesture.
“Me too.”
“So does the vet know what caused Robin’s navuncular?”
“Navicular,” I corrected her, grinning despite my depressed mood. “Not sure, but he said the shoeing job that Don has been doing hasn’t done him any favours. Reckons his toes are left too long and it’s affecting his break-over. That’s the way his foot hits the ground,” I explained. “Horses should land heel first and then roll across the sole and lift the toe last. Like we do. But if a horse’s toes are too long, then it’s a bit like us trying to walk in clown shoes. It affects the tendons in the legs as well as the internal structures of the hoof. I’ve been telling Mum for months that I don’t think Don does a very good job, but she kept saying that he’s been our farrier for years. I think she felt loyal to him because he would always come, even when we couldn’t pay him right away. But the vet gave us the name of a new guy, so we’re getting him out on Tuesday to do Robin and look at all the ponies. I can get him to check Squib too, if you want.”
“Sure, if you think it’s a good idea,” AJ agreed as I leaned over the railing and examined what I could see of Squib’s hooves. “He doesn’t have shoes though.”
“Yeah, I noticed. How come?”
AJ shrugged. “The people we bought him from said he doesn’t need them. He’s never been lame, and his hooves are hard as rock. Farriers always comment on it.”
“Fair enough,” I replied. “He might need them one day though, when you want to put studs in for the bigger jumps. Give him more grip off the ground, and on the turns.”
AJ looked indecisive. “I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. He doesn’t seem to be having any problems so far, so for now we’ll just carry on as we are.”
Our classes weren’t until later in the day, but AJ and I got sick of standing around, so we saddled Squib and Puppet and took them for a ride, leaving Forbes to devour his haynet and chat with the big chestnut horse in the yard next to him. Squib was his usual exuberant self, walking as though his legs were on springs, spooking at every little thing that moved and winding Puppet up so much that by the time we’d been out for twenty minutes, our legs were sore and bruised from being cannoned into by one another’s ponies.
“Let’s never ride these two together again,” I grumbled as a kid rode past on a bike and Puppet leapt into Squib, slamming my ankle into AJ’s stirrup iron for what felt like the thousandth time. Maybe bringing Puppet along for the outing hadn’t been such a brainwave after all.
“They’re as pathetic as each other,” AJ agreed. “Oh for goodness' sake Squib, it’s a piece of cardboard, it’s not going to eat you.”
Squib didn’t believe her, stopping dead and snorting loudly, his neck arched like a stallion as he pretended that the crushed paper cup on the ground just ahead of us was the most terrifying thing a pony had ever faced.
“I don’t see how he can jump the scariest jumps without batting an eyelid, but he can’t handle a bit of rubbish on the ground," AJ grumbled as Squib blithely ignored her attempts to kick him on past it.
“He’s deeply offended by litter,” I grinned, trying to get Puppet to lead the way forward, but he was easily influenced and had decided that if Squib said it was too dangerous to proceed, he was probably right. “He thinks we should be tidier Kiwis.”
AJ snorted. “Any excuse to be an idiot, more like,” she grumbled. “Come on Squibward or I’ll take you home right now and you won’t get to do any jumping today.”
Squib took one step forward, then spun on his hocks and bounded across the grass with his head in the air, fleeing the terrifying paper cup. I managed to keep Puppet from following him, but not without having to sit a few frantic pigroots and a half-decent attempt at a rear.
“Honestly Puppet, I thought you were a good boy,” I muttered. “You’ve made your bed now. I don’t care if we’re here for hours, you are going up to that bit of stupid trash and sniffing it if it’s the last thing you ever do.” I sat down in the saddle and shortened my reins, keeping my contact firm but gentle, and closed my legs around his sides.
“One step at a time,” I told him. Puppet threw his head from side to side, then tried to turn around and look for Squib. I resisted the temptation myself, confident that AJ would’ve got her pony back under control by now, and focused on getting Puppet to walk forward. Slowly, one hoof at a time, Puppet crept reluctantly towards the paper cup. He was still about three metres away from it when I realised that someone was riding towards us, and I glanced up, about to apologise for blocking the path, until I realised who it was.
Molly pricked her ears and fluttered her nostrils at Puppet in greeting, and I swallowed hard.
“Having trouble?” Susannah asked mockingly.
“He’s just being an egg,” I muttered. “He’s only four.”
“He’s cute,” she said, and I shot her a suspicious look, wondering if she was making fun of Puppet. He resembled nothing more than a black giraffe, a long weedy neck, legs that ended in pigeon-toed feet, and a roach back. Even his tiny white star didn’t do his face any favours, sitting higher than was attractive and emphasising the bump between his eyes. Nobody in their right mind would describe him as cute.
Under the pressure of Susannah’s gaze as she waited to get through the narrow space, I nudged Puppet forward a bit too forcefully. He promptly had a meltdown, running backwards and almost crashing into some people who were ignorant enough to have tried to walk behind him, nearly crushing them into the fence. They grumbled at me, as if it wasn’t their own fault for putting themselves into the firing line, and Susannah shifted restlessly in Molly’s saddle.
“Why doesn’t Molly give him a lead past?” she offered, sounding bored.
Susannah looked at me sceptically. “Sounds counter-productive to me.”
“Well, that shows how much you know,” I snapped back.
“I just meant, if he’s scared of something then surely making him go and sniff it would just upset him. Why not teach him that if he’s scared, that you won’t make him go into the danger zone, so he trusts you to keep him safe?”
The annoying part was that she partly made sense. But that wasn’t how I did things, and I wasn’t about to change now after my way had worked for years.
“He has to face his fears,” I told her, urging Puppet on, and he moved reluctantly forward. It was only half a step, but as soon as he took it I relaxed, taking the pressure off with my legs and letting the reins sit loose on his neck, giving him a chance to relax his mind and muscles before I asked him to take another one. Baby steps, Mum called it. Granny steps was how I thought of it, but either way it worked…eventually. But it took time, and I was becoming increasingly aware of the other horses and ponies that were now trying to get through the narrow gap that the paper cup happened to be in. Just as I got Puppet to take another hesitant step forward, Susannah’s father walked up behind her, slapping Molly on the rump and startling the pony.
To her credit, Susannah glowered down at her father. “You scared her!”
“She’s fine,” he bluffed, clapping Molly’s neck and making her flinch.
I scowled at him, my attention diverted from Puppet for a moment. “She hates that.”
He didn’t look too happy to see me. “Are you having some problems?” He walked closer. “Want me to lead him?” His hand reached forward towards Puppet’s bridle, and my blood chilled at the thought of him dragging the pony forward.